Dreaming Past It
by DellaDay
Summary: Inspired by recent photos of vintage cars ... I think you know the ones I mean.


Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

* * *

Every child has the same fantasy when a day approaches that they dread - the visit to the dentist, the first day at a new school. If only they could be magically transported past it and into some future time when it would be comfortably behind them. To herself, little Mary had called this feeling "dreaming past it". Dreaming past it meant that she could close her eyes, go to sleep and dream, to wake up and find that the dreaded day was past and she need never worry about it again.

Now, three weeks before her wedding day, Lady Mary Crawley wished she could dream past it. She had really very little to contribute to the preparations and hardly dared to try. Mama, Grannie and Cousin Isobel had fought to a draw over the guest list. The fittings for her gown had finally ended and Carson and Mrs. Hughes held the responsibility for the wedding breakfast in their capable hands. There was little to do but wait and waiting had become a bore. Her wedding day seemed more and more like a tedious chore that had to be got through before her new life with Matthew could begin.

The only task left to her was to open the wedding gifts that arrived daily and to reply by return of post. One would have thought that opening gifts would be enjoyable, but one would be wrong. Apparently no wedding guest ever gave a moment's thought to what a young couple might like. Instead they went to a shop that specialised in epergnes, pointed to the nearest epergne and had it sent to the happy bride. She and Matthew had received eight epergnes, each more hideous than the last. Their successive arrivals had been greeted with mounting hilarity by Matthew who had amused himself by suggesting various uses for them, some quite improper. His latest idea had been to harness all of the epergnes together with a system of belts and pulleys to create a perpetual-motion machine. It was all very well for him to laugh. He didn't have to find some way of conveying their gratitude to Lady So-and-So for her delightful gift which would end up in a corner of the Downton attics.

The one bright spot in all this was paying courtesy calls. She and Matthew had been given a list of shut-ins - elderly friends of the family and pensioned-off servants - who would be unable to come to the wedding but would certainly expect a visit from the future Earl and Countess of Grantham. Every afternoon when Matthew was free, they'd set off in the Talbot. They'd spend a dutiful hour in some cottage parlour or stuffy drawing-room, balancing tea-cups and cake plates while they looked at photographs. Then they would be free, running away like naughty children, driving through country lanes and pocket-sized villages, stopping at tiny tea-rooms or ancient pubs, talking, laughing, kissing. Matthew would let her take the wheel of the Talbot, thereby proving, he claimed, that he loved her more than the car. They'd finally drift home in time to dress for dinner and sit solemnly with the family for the rest of the evening.

Today was Nanny Potts' turn. She had been pert, pretty Lucy Potts, the nurserymaid, when Mary was little and cross old Nanny Dixon had ruled the nursery. Little Mary had disliked Nanny Dixon who was grumpy in the mornings and dozing in her armchair by tea time. Lucy had coached her to defy Nanny at every turn, only to find, when Nanny Dixon had been pensioned off and she had become Nanny Potts, that it wasn't easy to turn Mary into a well-behaved little girl. Mary had learned her lessons too well for that.

She'd told this story to Matthew, laughing, expecting him to laugh in return. Instead he'd been horrified. He couldn't understand how her lot could put their children in the charge of some old ogre. _They_ weren't going to have a nanny for their children. Why, his mother had taken care of him herself. How very middle-class, she'd retorted. They'd stopped and made up but she was still shaken by the argument. Why did she find it hard to say what she really wanted to say?

Whether she called on a dowager duchess or an elderly family retainer, Lady Mary Crawley never left the house without every hair in place. After lunch she sat at her dressing table while Anna did her hair, her deft fingers looping each tress into an elegant chignon. Anna had been almost unnaturally cheerful these days, as though she were forcing herself to find pleasure in life despite her worries. She chatted now about the basket of good things that Mrs. Patmore had packed for Lady Mary to take to Nanny Potts.

"Mr. Carson put a bottle of port in the basket himself. Of course, they do say downstairs that Nanny Dixon was the one who liked her tipple."

"Nanny Dixon _drank_?" Of course. The red face, the sleepiness, the stertorous snoring. "Didn't Mama and Papa know?"

"Oh no, milady, she were that clever. She paid one of the gardener's lads to bring the bottles and take them away. Then one day your Mama came up to the nursery and found Nanny Dixon asleep with the bottle by her chair. They do say downstairs that Lucy Potts had something to do with that. Any rate, next day she were pensioned off and Lucy Potts was your new nanny."

_Her nanny had been a drunkard. She could have set the nursery on fire._ She was glad that Matthew didn't know.

"I put the latest package from Paris on your bed, milady. Would you like me to open it?" Anna loved unwrapping the lingerie that she'd ordered for her trousseau. Such delicate, pretty things ... lacy chemises, silky step-ins, the first anyone at Downton had seen.

"Yes, do." She watched Anna in the looking-glass as she opened the package and gasped with delight. The latest arrival was a nightdress, a long slip of ivory satin, un-adorned by lace or ruffles, simplicity itself. Its straps were silk ribbons that tied at the shoulder. One had only to un-tie them to see the nightdress slip down ...

"Oh, milady. You should wear this on your wedding night."

Her wedding night. To be honest, this was what she really wanted to dream past. She was no wide-eyed Victorian miss, she knew what happened between husbands and wives, probably more than most brides, and she knew that her wedding night would be much nicer than her nasty, brutish and short encounter with Mr. Pamuk. After all, she would be with Matthew, her darling husband. But however hard she tried, she could not imagine anything past the vision of herself and Matthew, she in her nightdress and he in his pyjamas, sitting bolt upright in bed like Mama and Papa Bear in her nursery picture-books. Should she lie back and let Matthew take charge? Or would he expect her to _do_ something? Of course it was only to be expected that she would feel awkward and shy at first, but that was not a feeling that she had ever enjoyed. She wished that she could go to sleep tonight and wake up to a future morning when she would feel comfortable and experienced and _used_ to the thing.

They heard the crunch of tires on gravel. "It's Mr. Matthew, milady." Anna pinned Mary's hat on firmly and looked for her gloves while Mary went to the window. She could see Matthew in the forecourt, leaning against the Talbot, talking to someone who was standing inside the house. She rested her cheek against the cool glass and felt her anxieties slip away. _It's real, it's really real, we'll be together always._

As if sensing her presence, Matthew looked up, saw her and gave her his shy, lopsided smile. She blew him a kiss, took her coat and gloves from Anna and ran lightly downstairs. Matthew helped her into the car, the handsome new footman handed her the basket for Nanny Potts and they were off. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mama advancing down the hallway, waving a white piece of paper, no doubt a note from some ancient crony of Grannie's requesting them to call. Too late, they were free!

She and Matthew chatted about his trip to London with Murray to see the famous barrister Sir Anthony Fallon about Bates' case. He'd already written to Anna, but she wanted to hear what it was like to dine at the Fallons' house. Even in Yorkshire they had heard about Lady Fallon and her smart set, going to nightclubs, drinking cocktails, dancing to jazz music.

"Sylvia Fallon? She's very fashionable, if you like that sort of thing. She acts rather fluffy and scatter-brained but I think she's really quite clever. She smoked cigarettes after dinner." Matthew could be a prig about women who smoked. She must try it soon, just to shock him. "They have a baby, nice little chap. She took me up to the nursery to see him."

"Bobbed hair, I suppose?" Mary wanted to steer the conversation away from the dangerous ground of nurseries. Besides, she couldn't resist teasing Matthew who absolutely flinched whenever she mentioned bobbing her hair. True to form, he winced.

They slowed to a crawl when they came to the village, keeping an eye out for impulsive children and elderly pedestrians. Dear old Mrs. Nail dithered across the road, tacking in three different directions before she decided where she wanted to go, and Matthew stopped to give her his arm. He came back to report that she had called him George and had promised to show him a photograph of his father. They wondered who George could be and Mary idly mentioned that Nanny Potts would be sure to bring out her photograph of Mary naked on a bearskin rug. This caused Matthew to nearly drive into the side of the post office.

"I meant as a _baby_!" She was still laughing when they left the village and started to turn onto the main road.

Fortunately Matthew had his eye on the road because only his deft manoeuvring kept them out of the way of the juggernaut that was bearing down on them in the form of a huge American car with a red body and black top. The chauffeur who sat behind the wheel on the left side of the car had resolved the dilemma of which side of the road to choose by driving down the middle. The car appeared to be full of passengers, but as it sped by with an insolent honk of its horn, all that could be distinguished was a huge hat that looked like a dying swan.

Matthew was as thrilled as a schoolboy. "Crikey! Did you see the marque? It looked like a Durant!"

Mary was less impressed. "How rude and vulgar. And dangerous! Who on earth could they be?"

"Your American cousins, perhaps?" Matthew could tease, too.

"Of course not. Anyway, their boat doesn't leave New York until next week. These people must be going to look at Haxby. Let's hope they don't become our neighbours." True to his word, Sir Richard had placed Haxby on the market.

"Just as well we stopped. I should raise the top before the rain starts." The March sky which had been a watery blue had turned the colour of gunmetal.

Matthew got out to raise the car roof but it was too late as the skies suddenly opened. Mary hurried to help him but the rain was so vehement that they were thoroughly soaked before they were finished. They sat shivering in the car, discussing their choices. They could barely see the road through the driving rain, so continuing to Nanny Potts' cottage was out of the question. But sitting in their wet clothes while they waited for the storm to die down was not a happy option either. They had just passed the cut-off to the hunting lodge, a half-mile away. Navigating the road to the lodge would be better than staying on the main road since the chances of meeting other traffic would be small.

They drove slowly, peering ahead until the dark bulk of the hunting lodge emerged through the greyness. Matthew parked in the shelter of an outbuilding and with the basket and an armful of rugs from the car, they made a dash for the lodge. Inside it seemed even colder than outside but a fire had been neatly laid for the next shooting party. Mary piled the rugs in front of the hearth while Matthew lit the fire.

Carson would have seen to it that not a crumb of food, not even a candle, would have been left behind to attract animals or vermin but Mary found oil for a lamp and lit it, then sat down on the rugs to look through the basket.

"Ginger biscuits, blackberry jam .. oh, poor Nanny Potts, missing out on all these nice things."

"Poor Nanny Potts indeed, she's drier than we are. Anything to drink? That'll warm us up."

"Yes, here's the bottle of port." But hard as she searched, she couldn't find a corkscrew. "Carson must have taken it with him."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he wears it to bed on a chain round his neck." Matthew got up from his efforts over the fire and took the bottle from her. He wrapped his cap and scarf around the base of the bottle and walked around the room tapping at doorframes while Mary watched, puzzled. He finally stopped at a doorframe and to her surprise, slammed the bottom of the bottle against it several times.

"Matthew, what are you doing?"

"Just a little trick I learned in France ..." Just as she was sure the bottle would break, the cork worked loose and he was able to pull it out with his fingers. He handed it to her with that tilted-chin aren't-I-clever look that she knew so well. He looked so darling that she hadn't the heart to say that Carson would have never, ever shaken a bottle of port. She poured the wine into tin cups for them. It was a bit bubblier than port was meant to be but it warmed their insides.

They went back to the fire. While Matthew tried to get the larger logs to catch, Mary pulled off her sodden hat and started pulling the pins out of her damp hair.

_He's never spoken to me about France before. Should I get him to talk about it?_ Aloud she said "Where did you learn how to open a bottle like that?"

"We were bivouacked in a shelled-out chateau one night." Matthew had his back to her as he stoked the fire. "The family were long gone but there were a few bottles in the cellar. It was a pleasant surprise." He was silent for a moment. "It's odd how one forgets the horror after a time and remembers the good things. There were good things ... the camaraderie ... William's company. I was sorry that I was too ill to go to William's funeral. I wrote to his father, did you know? I've yet to visit him though. I asked if I could help him - financially, I mean - but he refused. So did that little girl in the kitchen who married William. She shook her head so hard when I asked her that I thought it would fly off. Perhaps you and I could visit Mr. Mason some day?"

She had loosened her hair and was fanning it with her hands so that it would dry, lifting it and letting it fall to her shoulders.

"Yes, of course. We'll speak to Daisy too."

When Matthew remained silent, she looked up. He was staring at her as though transfixed. The air between them seemed to crackle.

Of course. She could feel herself blushing. "You've never seen my hair down..."

In the shadows cast by the fire, his eyes were black. He whispered something that might have been her name and pulled her close. They toppled to the floor.

* * *

Matthew lay on his back by the fire, half-asleep, his arms under his head. Mary, wrapped in Matthew's coat, was curled up against him with her head resting on his chest and her bare legs and feet stretched toward the fire. She felt deliciously languorous and at the same time as though every sense was hyper-alert. She was acutely aware of the heat of the fire on her toes, the warmth of Matthew's body under her cheek, the steady pulse of his heartbeat. She was also ravenously hungry. She'd wolfed down most of the ginger biscuits and now was eating blackberry jam out of the jar with a spoon.

_I don't have to dream past anything anymore_, she thought. Matthew had taken the lead, she had followed and it had been so natural, as easy as breathing. And now there was nothing to fear, no need to shrink back from new experiences, only the confidence to go boldly out to meet them.

Aloud she said, "Wouldn't it be lovely to live here in the forest, just the two of us? We could lie by the fire all day."

"I wouldn't have much time to lie around," Matthew murmured. "If the way you've scarfed down those biscuits is any indication, it would be a full-time job finding you enough to eat."

"You'd have to learn how to shoot properly."

"If it comes to that, you'd have to learn to cook properly. I'll wager you don't."

"I've never cooked anything in my life. I'm completely useless, I'm afraid." She sat up, ignoring Matthew's _oof_ of protest as her elbow dug into his stomach. "Matthew, we have to have a nanny. I don't know how to take care of children." The words that she couldn't say during their row came out now in a rush. "I could drop the baby, or drown it or scald it or ... And it's no use my asking Mama, she doesn't know either. "

Matthew sat up, took the jam jar away from her, and took her hand in his. "I know, darling, but there's someone you could ask." _Don't say your mother. Don't say your mother._ "Sylvia Fallon. They had a trained nurse to stay for a while when their baby was born and now Sylvia knows all about nap times and taking temperatures and all that sort of thing. And she's dying to meet you. She would be happy to talk to you, I'm sure of it."

"Sylvia Fallon?" Might as well come out with it. "I thought you were going to say Cousin Isobel. She must have been the perfect mother. I could never live up to that."

"Mother? Well, she wasn't exactly perfect ... Look, you must never tell anyone about this. I'm not supposed to know it myself. But she left me in a shop once."

"She left you in a shop?"

"Apparently she had been running errands and was rather tired and harried and left me in my pram in a shop. She came back in a panic a few minutes later and found me laughing away, surrounded by all of the shop customers who turned as one and glared at her. She cried for hours after we got home, I'm told. Now remember ... you don't know anything about this."

"Oh, poor Cousin Isobel." The image of an overwhelmed new mother was so unlike the bossy, competent matron she knew. Mary felt positively magnanimous towards her future mother-in-law. "You know, when I first met you, I was a little jealous. You and your mother seemed so close."

"We were huddling together for protection against your lot." He stroked her hair back from her forehead and said after a pause, "Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?"

"How horrid I was?"

"Well, that too. But my first thought was that I wanted to pull all of the pins out of your hair and watch it slowly fall to your shoulders."

"But you didn't even like me!"

"It's a fact of life, darling, that you can dislike a rude young woman intensely and fall in love with her at the same time."

"Oh, Matthew. What a lot of time we've wasted." She leaned forward to kiss him again and he pulled her down on top of him.

* * *

"Stop wriggling!" Matthew commanded as he tried to pin up Mary's hair.

"Then stop kissing my neck."

Matthew frowned in concentration as he looped up another lock of hair and took the hairpin that Mary handed him over her shoulder. "Done!" he said triumphantly.

Mary patted the back of her head tentatively. It didn't feel like the tidy chignon that Anna created every morning. "It feels ... shaky. And lumpy."

"Rubbish. It's a marvel of engineering. The point of these things is not to have any hairpins left over. There aren't any hairpins left over, are there? There you are."

"I suspect there are but they're under the furniture." She turned to face Matthew and he took her in his arms, resting his smooth warm cheek against hers.

"Do you know," he said, "I was rather wishing that the wedding and ... all that ... could be already over. Now I'm looking forward to it. We'll have a splendid time."

_Oh, darling. Were you nervous, too?_ They stood together quietly for a moment longer, then packed up the rugs and put out the fire.

The rain had stopped and it was dark outside. Matthew drove slowly, trying to avoid the worst of the puddles, while Mary rested her head on his shoulder. They passed silently through the village streets, empty now that it was dinner-time. When they reached home, every window on the second floor of Downton Abbey was ablaze with light.

"Oh, good ... everyone is upstairs dressing for dinner. The hall will be empty, no-one will see us." There had been no looking-glass at the lodge but Mary felt sure that she was not her usual immaculately put-together self. But when they arrived at the front door there was another car in the forecourt, the big red and black American car that had almost run them down.

"Guests? But who ..." They looked at each other in dawning realisation. "Your American cousins after all?" "But the dates are all wrong!" Matthew drove the car around to the tradesman's entrance. "Let me take you indoors and then I'll dash home and change as quickly as I can." He helped Mary out of the car. In the light that poured out of the house they saw each other clearly and burst into laughter. They were hatless, their clothes crumpled and mud-spattered. Matthew's hair, usually brushed sleekly back, had fallen onto his forehead while Mary's had shed all of her pins and was sliding down her back.

It was Carson who opened the door for them, looking imperturbable as usual despite the chaos that must have been caused downstairs by the unexpected vistors. He took in the situation at a glance. "Very pleased to see you home safely, milady. I'll fetch Anna." Matthew kissed her good-bye and fled.

She and Anna hurried up the servants' stairs but when they came out into the gallery in front of her room, she couldn't resist peeking down into the hall. Far from being empty, it was crowded with people including Edith, Mama and Papa and several fashionably-dressed people who looked vaguely familiar, the women with their hair cut short in sleek caps adorned with jewelled and feathered hairbands. In the centre of the group stood a small but formidable-looking elderly woman wearing a hat like a dying swan. She spoke loudly and imperiously.

"Well, Cora, you can say what you like about young men back home, at least they know enough to bring a girl home at a decent hour."

Cora began to speak, caught a glimpse of movement in the gallery above, looked up and froze. Mary and Anna disappeared into her room as Cora was heard to say weakly that perhaps they should wait just a few minutes more.

Mary slipped out of her ruined dress and sat down at her dressing-table. In the looking-glass she could see the new nightgown, decorously folded on her bed. It no longer held any anxieties for her. _Wait until Matthew sees it._ She met Anna's eyes and they shared a complicit smile. Anna began to brush her hair and tell her about the afternoon's excitement. Mrs. Levinson was a tartar, everyone jumped when she spoke, her maid was a bit stiff in her manner and her chauffeur was a cheeky sod who'd already been slapped by one of the maids. But milady's cousins were ever so nice. Anna had unpacked for the ladies and they had lovely things. And they looked so smart with their bobbed hair.

Mary yawned and stretched luxuriously. "Anna, I will never think about bobbing my hair again. Ever."

Somehow the next three weeks didn't stretch ahead so tediously after all. She and Matthew had more afternoon calls on their list. And if they were lucky it would rain again.


End file.
